Trapped In Covetousness
by SpangleBangle
Summary: Moran wouldn't have said he was a jealous man. Until he fell for Moriarty, that is. Whether it's that Hooper girl or Sherlock Holmes, Moran always seems to have competition. MorMor, set during 1x03
1. Chapter 1

Hello there~ I had the idea for this buzzing around in my brain developing itself for days. It had to be written. Set just before the conclusion of The Great Game (1x03).

Contains: MorMor (Moriarty/Moran), graphic sex (?) and some swearing.

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (c) Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Sherlock BBC (c) Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat

* * *

It was not unusual for Sebastian Moran to find himself perching in strange places.

He had once camped out on a castle rooftop for the better part of three nights for no discernible profit, and another time he had become trapped in a cavity wall when the unexpected arrival of his target had forced him to hide. He was used to being flexible and adapting to these situations and the problems they presented. He never complained about these bizarre circumstances, only asked for a slight increase in his payment (the cavity wall incident had cost his employer an additional hundred pounds for faulty supply of the target's whereabouts and schedule). He accepted them as part and parcel of his job. He was dispassionate about needing to squeeze himself into strange locations for the perfect vantage point. It did not affect him.

But he had, to his mingled irritation and aggravation, found that this particular location was… vexing. It was by no means a difficult location to place himself within, to blend into with the ease of a professional. He did not require special passes or alibis or bribes. All he needed, in fact, was a casual change of clothes, a wallet, and the ability to order a coffee and to find a window-seat in this small café.

In a logical light there was no cause to find it vexing, if one did not count the noise of inane chatter and the squealing of small children being given milkshakes and sugary cakes.

No, the reason for his vexation was that he needed to occupy this position at all. Looking out of the window like a casual tourist or perhaps an office clerk on a break, he had a perfect view of the front entrance of Bart's Morgue, as well as several decent views on windows and a fire escape. He wasn't being paid to sit here in this frankly second-rate café drinking third-rate watered caffeine and sugar, and the information he gleaned from his surveillance would serve no one but himself. In fact, if his employer – though he repressed a shudder at the impersonal term – discovered his observations he would _not_ be happy. You didn't hire an assassin to stalk you, after all. You hired him to kill the target.

Moran sharpened his attention as a very familiar figure, accompanied by a skinny young woman, stepped out of the entrance. He narrowed his eyes slightly, allowing his specialised sunglasses to act as binoculars, 'zooming in' on his target. His face was expressionless but a sick feeling rose in the pit of his stomach as he watched the man grin in that charming, disarming way of his and lean in to kiss the blushing young lady's cheek.

He had to restrain the impulse to tighten his hold on the slim back case in his lap, containing a high-powered, silenced rifle, complete with laser sights and a support. From the outside the case appeared to be some sort of musical case, perhaps holding a flute or even a clarinet, but the instrument within allowed only death to split the air, rather than music.

No, Molly Hooper was not to be terminated. It was unnecessary, wasteful, inefficient and would contradict the plan, the Game that his 'employer' had spent so long constructing. It was part of the plan to make Molly like him, like the man Moran had been following faithfully since the start of his contract a few years before. It was part of the plan that Moriarty – he bit his lip slightly at the mere thought of his name – would see the great Holmes. The girl was necessary, the only morgue technician who could stand to be around the consulting detective. Through her, Moriarty could get to Holmes.

He didn't have to be so damn convincing as her new boyfriend, though. He didn't have to look so… happy.

Moran silenced that thought before it went anywhere else. Of course he had to look happy, that was part of the deception. Stop being an idiot, Sebastian.

He tore his gaze away from them as the Hooper girl blushed and tentatively kissed Moriarty – _his_ Moriarty, the cheek of the girl – on the lips for the first time in their 'relationship'. Moriarty had employed himself in the IT department for the past week to build up a rapport with Hooper, and had gotten impatient enough with her infatuation with Holmes to make his move.

Moran took off the specialised sunglasses – only a little conspicuous wearing them inside, it was a bright day – and frowned minutely down at his cup of noxious caffeine. He should stop this surveillance, it was only angering and hurting him. It had no useful purpose. But despite himself, his eyes found their way back to Moriarty across the road. He watched the graceful lines of Moriarty's arms as they circled around Hooper's waist, tracked his eyes down the smooth curve of his spine and the planes of his back, the muscles contracting visibly through his tight T-shirt as he pulled Hooper close. He watched with hungry eyes as Moriarty parted his lips to press wetly against Hooper's, saw the grin in his expression. The glint in his eyes that only Moran could recognise, even from this distance, as the thrill of deception rather than enjoyment of a kiss.

He tried to pull his gaze away again but was only partly successful; his eyes locked on the near-mesmerising sight of Moriarty's fluorescent green underwear, the waistband just visible over the top of his tight, low-slung jeans. His hands itched to touch the fabric that he knew would be silken, and warmed from the heat of Moriarty's body. He wanted to run his hands over Moriarty's back, dig in his nails, scratch furrows of desire into the criminal's back, marking him as _taken_, as none of Hooper's business. He body tingled with the phantom desire to be the one in Moriarty's arms, _his_ mouth being explored by that clever tongue.

Moran swallowed thickly and with sharp, efficient motions snapped open a newspaper, holding it to block his view of the entryway to the morgue. He mastered himself, blindly reading stories of celebrity marriages and council disputes. This blip in his professional scheduling concerned him a little. He was not currently 'on the job', so by rights he should be home, or perhaps at the Bagertelle Card Club, frittering away his time and trying to distract himself from the gnawing, empty sensation that gripped him whenever he was not in Moriarty's presence. He should not be following Moriarty, he should simply leave the café and walk away, await further instructions. Perhaps Moriarty would have a job for him again soon. Maybe he would even want to meet him for a more personal reason.

Moran shook his head and accidentally glanced over the top of his newspaper, and squashed the instinct to curse foully. How long could he drag on a kiss? Honestly.

Not that Moran had ever objected to those smouldering, lingering kisses that sent shivers of pleasure sweeping through his body, that teasing crush of their mouths that only made them both hungry for more.

He was fiercely glad when Hooper broke the kiss, breathless and flushed. She waved goodbye to Moriarty and headed back into the building, looking giddy. Moriarty waved back and strolled away casually, the smile dropping from his face as he walked to be replaced by his customary look of closed-off introspection, perhaps a hint of satisfaction. As Moran watched him walking with that oh-so sensual roll of his hips, his head weaving slightly from side to side, Moriarty flipped open his phone, tapped into the keys and put it away with a smirk.

Moran's pocket vibrated and he automatically checked his messages.

_Did you enjoy the show, dear? Meet later, I've got a job for you. My place. JM _

Moran clenched his jaw at the teasing implicit in the text. Moriarty had obviously known Moran was watching. He had probably prolonged the kiss just to wind up his associate, knowing it would aggravate him. Moran had no idea how he had been spotted, but grudging respect welled within him; this impossibility was just one of the many reasons his mind and body were so tangled up in Moriarty.

Moran didn't reply to the text and left the café, no longer needing the pretence of drinking the slop of caffeine that everyone in the western world seemed moronically addicted to consuming. He slung his 'clarinet case' over his shoulders and walked calmly to the nearest Tube station, keeping an eye on Moriarty sauntering on the other side of the street. Moriarty smirked and glanced his way just once before climbing into a taxi, the second that their eyes met sending chills down Moran's spine.

Moran spent the rest of the day shopping around in some less-than-legal establishments, idly looking for any upgrades to his impressive weapons cache. When you were in his sort of business you had to stay at the top of the game, with the best possible tools, or you would fail. He knew that 'later' referred to a time just after half ten, from trial and error. So he had time to waste.

But just the simple knowledge that Moriarty wanted to meet him later made him restless and threatened to make a smile break on his normally impassive face. Moriarty hadn't wanted to meet with him in quite a few weeks, as Moran had been out of the country for a previous job and hadn't been required since. He was a disciplined man, aside from this blip of following his employer, and had tried not to ache for his employer in the time apart. He had tried very hard. And anyway, he was so hopelessly ensnared by Moriarty that he was ruined for anyone else, even his hand. It just wasn't the same, and wasn't nearly as satisfying as those infrequent, heady nights where he was the absolute centre of Moriarty's attention.

As the day crawled towards 'later', he dressed smartly in a nondescript black suit, his dark purple shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He briefly debated wearing a tie – Moriarty always appreciated formalwear – but, with a bitter clench of his jaw he decided to leave it, a small mark of rebellion that would not go unnoticed. He combed his dark hair haphazardly, the slightly-longer fringe curling above his grey eyes. Normally he would gel the hair away from his eyes if he were on a job, but he wanted to ruffle Moriarty's feathers a little by appearing just a touch more casual than normal.

He armed himself easily, slipping small pistols into a double shoulder rig, sliding small but sharp knives into sheaths on his forearms and calves, and finally slipped a stiletto knife down his left boot. It didn't hurt to be prepared, and nowadays it was second nature to him to arm up before leaving the house. Such was the cut of his suit, however, and the skill with which he armed himself that a casual bystander would instantly forget him, thinking him perhaps to be a funeral-goer, or attending a social function. No one would suspect him of being a damn fine assassin.

Moran made his way through the busy London night to a small detached house in a calm, almost suburban part of the city. He backtracked and doubled on himself numerous times, checking he was not being followed. No one was to know the location of this house. The secret of its owner was far more valuable than his life.

He pulled a key from its place on a chain around his neck and let himself in, closing the door quickly behind himself. He made his way to the living room, noting the small changes to the décor as he walked; another painting here, a small statue of a Greek god in the corner. The lights and heating were on, illuminating the comfortably wealthy house; Moriarty was here already, then.

He sat easily on the sofa in the living room, waiting for Moriarty to appear. It wasn't his place to go looking for the man. He would make himself known in his own good time.

Usually the game Moriarty played with him would set his heart pounding with anticipation, pooling pleasurably in his groin, but today Moran had no patience for it. Remembering Moriarty's little performance with Hooper put a sour taste in his mouth. He was just annoyed. He sunk into dark thoughts, unconsciously getting a knife from his sleeve and spinning it around his fingers, a nervous habit he had picked up recently after being sent to perform surveillance on DI Gregory Lestrade, who twirled his pens when he was trying to think.

"Coffee?" A light voice, with a wisp of an Irish accent, enquired from the doorway. Moran refused to look at him even though he ached to gorge his hungry eyes on the criminal.

"You know I can't stand it," He said instead, his voice neutral but low in tone. He failed to see the importance of speaking louder than was absolutely necessary.

"Oh really?" Moriarty said playfully, sitting across from Moran on a plush chair that looked like it had been transported direct from Victoria's reign. "I thought you had six cups of the stuff today in that little café."

Moran couldn't avoid looking at him now and let his gaze linger, heat flaring under his skin. Moriarty was dressed as impeccably as always, and somehow managed to make a two-piece suit look comfortable and effortless. White shirt, fitted to his moulded body like a second skin, light grey trousers crisp at the seams and somehow making his legs look longer as one draped itself over the knee of the other. Dove-grey blazer with a neatly folded white handkerchief in the pocket, unbuttoned as he lounged in his chair. Westwood. His hair was neatly arranged, just a touch of gel. He was dressed up tonight.

And that knowing smirk that bored right though Moran, accompanied by a tilted eyebrow that silently enquired, _finished ogling me yet?_ His eyes were cold, but bright with anticipation. He licked his lips, drawing Moran's gaze there irresistibly, setting his own lips tingling with memories of previous kisses. Moriarty's gaze travelled slowly over Moran as well, sending pleasurable shivers down his spine. Moran felt like he was being undressed and devoured in that gaze, especially when Moriarty's eyes caught on the carelessly unbuttoned collar of his shirt, revealing a teasing triangle of tanned flesh. Moriarty's pupils dilated a little and his eyes drilled into Moran at that spot, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

Moran mimicked Moriarty's position, resting his ankle on the knee of the other leg, and his hand on the raised leg. He knew the motion would stretch his shirt and trousers just a little over his muscled body. Those dark, dark eyes became deeper, the master criminal's pupils dilating fully as his breathing became just a little heavier.

Moran's lips twitched; Moriarty wasn't the only one who could play a tease.

"These suicide-bombings," Moran said quietly after a moment, revelling in the temporary control he had with Moriarty fairly staring at his chest, legs, hands, crotch. "Why didn't you hire me for the sniper?"

"The work is beneath you, darling," Moriarty replied in that playful tone of voice, lips curling in a smirk as he met Moran's eyes. "I knew you'd want something a bit more challenging."

_I want to be beneath you_, Moran's idiot brain supplied for him longingly. He ignored it. "So what's the new job?"

"I'm glad you're all dressed up," Moriarty replied, grinning slowly. "It's going to be a fun night. Sherlock saved the last 'bomber', and I'm simply waiting for his next move. I know what it'll be, though."

"What?" Moran asked, irritated just a little at Moriarty's inability to give a straight answer.

"He'll want to meet me," Moriarty grinned, eyes and teeth glinting white. "He's met Jim the IT technician, but he'll want to _really_ meet me tonight."

"I take it you saw him then."

"Ohh yes," Moriarty breathed, eyes darting up to the ceiling in remembrance. "He's very good, you know. Picked out the little gay act in just a few seconds. Kinda dishy too, you know." He laughed.

Moran didn't reply, but the knife spun a little faster in his fingers, a mark of his annoyance. He swallowed down the bitter bile that rose at Moriarty's easy compliments of his nemesis. Did he have to compete with Holmes now as well? And it was just a trick, was it? Hypocrite. Damned hypocrite that he couldn't help but ache for.

Moriarty glanced back down to survey his companion, his expression flickering slightly at Moran's lack of response.

"Anyway, the job tonight. I need to you dress up that adorable house-pet Sherlock keeps around and play sniper at the location. That's more of what you wanted, isn't it?"

Moran nodded once; it was a simple enough job, needing no further explanation.

"The usual rate, of course," Moriarty smiled.

Moran nodded again crisply. Irritation crossed Moriarty's face for a brief moment before he schooled himself.

"Jesus wept, what's with the silent treatment tonight? I know you're not a talkative bugger but still, Moran." Moriarty said, rolling his eyes and the last syllable of Moran's name in a way that he _knew_ made the sniper hot under the collar.

Moran suppressed a shiver and smirked just a little, bitterly pleased that his rebellion was getting under Moriarty's skin. Moriarty surveyed him for a moment then chuckled. "Oh, that's cute. You're jealous, aren't you?"

Moran shot him a scornful look but didn't deny it, choosing instead to watch the flickering knife blade as it danced around his fingertips. There was no point denying things around Moriarty, and he didn't like being lied to.

"You are!" Moriarty exclaimed with an almost childish delight, clapping his hands and leaning back in his chair. "That's really very adorable, Moran."

Moran said nothing, fighting the impulse to blush. A master assassin does not _blush_. Fuck, a master assassin shouldn't be this ridiculously attached to his employer. It simply was not professional.

"Aww, was it watching me snog Molly's face off?" Moriarty cackled playfully, pulling a mock-pouting face. "Did it make you jealous, Moran?"

Moran's eye twitched, an uncontrollable reaction to the sick anger in his stomach. Moriarty caught the twitch and was about to say something when a laptop on the coffee table whirred with an alert. His attention snapped to the device and he checked it, a predatory grin stretching his lips.

"The Pool, midnight," He read out. "I told you he would want to meet me. Ooh, our first date. How do I look?"

Moran rolled his eyes and slipped the knife into its sheath, not bothering to respond to Moriarty's blatant teasing. "I'd better go find Doctor Watson," he said in a clipped voice, standing up; Moriarty rose with him, head tilted slightly to one side.

"You really _are_ upset," Moriarty observed, blinking in surprise. "How precious."

"Took you long enough to notice," Moran said, the words slipping out before he could recall them. He grimaced and made to leave, annoyed with himself for giving that much ground.

Moriarty grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back into the room, looking up at his face with a fascinated curiosity. Moran was a few inches taller but it didn't often feel that way.

Moriarty raised a hand to touch Moran's cheek, a gentle caress that set his face tingling, blood pulsing through his body. "Oh dear," Moriarty said softly, rolling his Rs teasingly, making Moran's hands shake just a little. "Have I been neglecting you, Sebastian?"

He pressed close, shepherding Moran back against the wall, eyes glinting with anticipation. Moran was too distracted from hearing Moriarty call him by his _name_, a rare gift, to demur.

"Oh dear, oh dear me," Moriarty purred, stroking his hand through Moran's hair and pressing close, the fabric of their suits rustling. "I didn't realise you were _properly_ jealous, I thought that was just for fun."

Moran couldn't meet his eye, turning his head so that Moriarty's hand stroked down his cheek. He hated himself for the weakness but the desire that pulsed through him on seeing Moriarty's smile more than made up for it.

"Poor Sebastian," Moriarty cooed, trailing his other hand down the assassin's chest to press against his crotch, cupping his already-hard member. Moran sucked in a sharp breath and closed his eyes at the touch, craving it and hating himself for needing it. Moriarty smiled and pressed his hand harder, watching eagerly as Moran's lips parted of their own volition, an admission of enjoyment. "You know Molly is just a means to an end, silly."

"You seemed very happy to be kissing her," Moran pointed out a little breathlessly, feeling Moriarty's hand stroke him slowly through his trousers, his erection only growing harder. His fingers scratched a little at the wallpaper.

"Well of course," Moriarty replied impatiently. "Otherwise she'd think something was the matter. Has your brain gone walkabouts today, Sebastian? Usually you're so much smarter than this, smarter than the little folk who never open their eyes."

"You haven't wanted to meet me in so long," Moran admitted reluctantly, catching his breath in reaction to Moriarty's slow ministrations. "I thought…"

"Silly Sebastian," Moriarty laughed. "I didn't mean to neglect you. You haven't even touched yourself since last time, have you?"

Moran gritted his teeth and shook his head sharply, mortified. How could Moriarty know that? He must have cameras in his house or something, he though blearily. Moriarty chuckled darkly and ground his hand against Moran's groin; a soft gasp escaped Moran's parted lips.

"How loyal," Moriarty chuckled, drinking in the slight breaks in Moran's composure. "You must be _bursting_," He drawled. "_Aching_ for a quick release, right?"

Moran shuddered and scratched at the wallpaper, trying to keep his face impassive while he was teased, his blood pounding hotly through his body and carrying sweet waves of desire with it. They always had this game. Moriarty loved to try and break his will, loved seeing him abandon all control. In trade for the merciless teasing _that_ would entail, Moran would fight him as long as possible, keeping a straight face. Everything was a game to Moriarty, and Moran was happy to play as long as he got his release.

"I suppose I owe you one," Moriarty grinned, watching the muscles in Moran's cheeks twitch as he fought to keep a blank expression. "For being so loyal."

He took off his jacket, taking his hand away for a necessary second and pressing back even harder once it had been removed. He rolled up his cuff and with quick motions unbuckled Moran's belt, undid his trousers and yanked his underwear down to the floor.

Moran bit his lip hard, brow creasing in concentration as he fought to keep from crying out, from panting, from urging Moriarty on as the delicious sensation of Moriarty's hand wrapping around his shaft threatened to overwhelm him. He _had_ been aching for this, dreaming of it and jumping in the shower every night, trying to quell the lust that just the thought of Moriarty could induce. Full-on sex would have been even better, of course, but he was lucky to even get handled like this. It had been far too long since their last personal meeting.

Moriarty rubbed his hand up and down, creating as much friction as he could, his hot breath bathing Moran's neck. Moran tried to reign his impulses in, but it had been too fucking long, and Moriarty was right, he was desperate. His expression flickered between an impassive mask and anxious distraction. He didn't notice when he stopped biting his lip and short, harsh pants escaped his throat. He noticed when Moriarty squeezed harder, rubbed faster, chuckling all the while.

"Come on now Sebastian," He sang gleefully. "I know you don't like to talk but I want to hear _something_ now. I know you're close, come on.."

Moran clenched his jaw and swallowed the spit that was accumulating in his mouth, still playing the game of refusal.

"No?" Moriarty laughed and rubbed his thumb along the damp tip of Moran's erection; he groaned harshly, the sound reverberating through his chest, unable to stop himself. "Ah, that's better! So sensitive after so long, Sebastian… I _am_ impressed. But come on now, don't you want to let go? Let it _all_ go, you know you'll enjoy it…"

That groan had released the floodgate, and he couldn't stop himself from moaning, panting and whispering obscenities as he teetered on the brink, kept back from release.

"That's very good, Sebastian," Moriarty grinned, rubbing along the wet slit again, his hand slick with Moran's pre-cum, "But I want a little bit _more_ now. You know my name. Say it. Say it, Sebastian."

"Jim," Moran groaned, his control snapping and feral need sweeping over his features. He writhed against Moriarty's – Jim's – hand, desperately seeking his long-awaited release. "Oh fuck, _Jim_…!"

His whole body shuddered as he finally, finally came, Moriarty's name pushed harshly from his throat. He slumped against the wall, panting for breath.

"Mm, very good," Moriarty purred. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

Moran helplessly nodded, opening his eyes just in time to witness the marvellous sight of Moriarty offhandedly sucking the cum from his hand, a languidly pleased expression on his face. It was for moments like this that Moran suffered through the teasing, stayed with Moriarty and sought no other clients, endured the jealousy and remained totally loyal.

Moriarty leaned up and murmured into his ear, "Don't worry, Seb. You're too much fun to cast aside."

Moran grinned foolishly, experience allowing him to translate that into a profession of fidelity.

"You know what? How about later, after this little job, we make an evening of it. What do you say, Seb?" Jim grinned, watching Moran's face light up.

"You promise?" Moran replied, raw need slipping into his voice before he could control it. He gave up trying to be impassive and clutched at Jim's shirt, uncaring that he would crease it. He didn't care that he sounded weak, that he had lost this game of wits for this round. He just knew he wanted him even worse than before, as he always did, insatiable and falling deeper every time.

Jim smiled in a manner that could, on anyone else, be construed as a tender expression. "I promise, Seb." He leaned up and kissed Moran's eagerly waiting lips, teasing him all over again. When he broke the kiss Moran was panting again, half-erect. Jim laughed and stepped away.

"Goodness, Sebastian, for such a calm man you're very… animated today." Jim smirked. "And I'd love to have you right here and now, believe me." Moran shivered and started redressing, biting his lip to contain a grin. "But we do have this little job to take care of first, unfortunately. You get to play with Semtex, though."

"That makes up for it a little," Moran smiled, briskly tucking himself and his shirt back into his trousers, clearing his throat and assuming his blank mask again.

Jim grinned and pulled his cuff back down and his jacket back on. "Let's be off, then. I can't wait to get back."

* * *

This is developing a life of its own. BI There will be a chapter 2.

Hope you enjoyed reading it, if you'd take a moment to leave a review I'd really appreciate it. :)

See you next chapter~


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2. Not much else to say, except that I enjoyed writing this far too much B3

_*Smut and slight BDSM warning. Don't like, don't read.*_

Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (c) Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Sherlock BBC (c) Mark Gatiss & Steven Moffat

* * *

Moran lurked in the dark alleyway beside Speedy's, waiting for his prey. He was eager to get all this done with so he and Moriarty – Jim, oh Jim – could properly enjoy each other. That quick fumble in the doorway had been satisfying, enough to stave off the desperate urges for Moriarty he had to constantly quell, but it paled into insignificance with the promise of a full together. It had been so long…

But despite the anticipation in his blood, he concentrated fully on the job at hand. His job was very simple: get Doctor Watson into the alleyway, into the waiting car, strap him up with a jacket of Semtex, and take him to the pool. If he didn't leave the flat of his own volition, it would be easy to knock, pretending some dire emergency, and drag him into the alleyway.

Moran checked his watch and was about to make himself look more like a mugging victim when the doctor obligingly stepped outside, smiling about something. Moran allowed himself a brief smile before smoothing his expression again.

Silently, he pulled a gun from his shoulder rig and stepped up behind the doctor. He pressed the cold barrel to the nape of his neck, eliciting a shocked gasp.

"Doctor Watson," Moran said softly, taking his shoulder firmly. "You'd best come with me."

"Who are you?" Watson asked bravely, holding his hands away from his body and standing very still.

"That doesn't matter. Now walk backwards with me. There is no need for this to be unpleasant, as long as you co-operate."

Watson obeyed, clenching his jaw angrily. They slowly backed into the dark alley, the sound of Watson's elevated breathing loud in the quiet night.

"Good," Moran said, halting them. "Very good. No need for anyone to get hurt. All going well, you can be on your way shortly, no harm done. I would really prefer not to shoot you."

"How very sensitive of you," Watson said sarcastically.

"My employer would be very displeased if I failed him in this," Moran replied, even quieter. "And I would do anything to avoid his displeasure."

"Oh yeah? And just who is that?"

Moran smiled coldly. "Moriarty," He breathed, the name like a prayer. Watson stiffened, his breathing ragged with fear. "Now, hold still while I dress you."

"Dress me?" Watson exclaimed, startled. He almost turned around but Moran flicked back the safety catch on his pistol with an audible _click_, and the doctor stilled immediately.

"No sudden moves, Captain," Moran said. "Hold still and everything will be alright."

There was absolute silence for the next few minutes as Moran clothed him in the packs of explosives and heavy winter coat to cover them, keeping the gun trained on him all the while.

"Very good, Captain," Moran said softly, breaking the silence. "Now the earpiece."

When that was fitted, Moran switched it on and fitted his own earpiece and transmitter, not taking his eyes off the doctor.

"Are you done?" Moriarty asked him through the earpiece, all work now.

Moran nodded. "Affirmative. Ready to proceed?"

"Oh, am I ever," Moriarty chuckled. "Bring him along. I'll coach the good doctor through the doors, don't worry."

"Look," Watson said, a note of real panic in his voice, "There's no need to do this. Really. I'm sure that whatever this is, we can just… just talk it out. No need for e-explosives…"

"Captain, this is no matter for words," Moran replied, his voice a little hoarse from its overuse. He hadn't talked so much in over a week. "You comply, and no one gets hurt. You fight, and yourself and most likely the good detective will both be killed. Instantly."

"You're a military man, aren't you," Watson tried another tack. "Addressing me by rank, holding the gun steady. Prepared, calm, cool under pressure. A military man like me. There's no need to do this."

Moran checked his watch briefly and a muscle in his cheek twitched. "There is no time. Get in the car."

Watson hesitated for the time it took Moran to press the barrel more firmly into his neck and fetch a knife, the distinctive _flick_ of its unsheathing enough to ensure co-operation. They slowly climbed in the car together, Moran keeping the gun trained on Watson faithfully, the knife held loosely in his other hand.

"Drive," Moran raised his voice a little, and the faceless driver eased the car into the night.

They rode in silence, and Watson surveyed Moran with wide eyes, no doubt gathering information for the Holmes to deduce.

"Why are you doing this?" Watson asked as they stopped outside the pool. "Why commit these crimes, why do it? Is money enough?"

Moran's lips twitched and his eyes bored coldly into Watson's. "It's not about money, nor honour, nor duty nor love of country, or lack of any of those. My employer keeps me well paid, but that is not my motivation."

"What, then?" Watson asked.

"I enjoy it. A lot."

Watson swallowed nervously, looking ill. "Right then. Well, are we going inside?"

Moran said nothing and calmly waited. Sure enough, a few minutes later another car pulled up, a black cab. The distinctive coat-swishing figure of Sherlock Holmes stepped out, passing some cash to the driver, who beat a hasty retreat.

"Not a word," Moran said softly, shifting his grip on the knife meaningfully. "Silence."

Watson gritted his teeth and watched Sherlock enter the building. Soon enough Moriarty gave the go-ahead for Watson to be brought inside. Moran walked him in, gun to the back of his head and knife held ready.

"No funny business, Captain," Moran said softly. "Do exactly as he tells you and no one will get hurt."

Watson gritted his teeth and walked slowly through the doors to the actual poolside, following Moriarty's hushed orders in the earpiece. Moran watched for a moment before walking briskly to an upper level and setting up his rifle with some other snipers; he exchanged terse nods with those he had met before. There wasn't a massive pool you could dip into for professional, discreet assassins, after all. Ha.

It was a beautiful encounter to behold, it really was. Holmes' shock and uncertainty at seeing _Watson_ there, and the glorious sound of Moriarty's voice echoing through the pool. Moran couldn't stop the grin that stretched his lips as he watched Moriarty swagger and outmanoeuvre Holmes. He still kept a careful eye and a laser sight on Holmes, but he watched that marvellous man in the grey suit from the corner of his eye.

Everything was going swimmingly – he permitted himself just a moment to mentally scold himself for that – until Moriarty's phone went off. Moran's grin twisted bitterly into something cold and ugly; it was that Adler woman. Interfering again.

And she had changed Moriarty's ringtone. Moran knew what that meant. Bitch.

"If you have what you say you have, I can make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes." Moriarty promised coldly, waltzing out. The other snipers glanced to Moran for some guidance, and he reluctantly put the safety back on his rifle, grimacing. The others followed his lead, no happier than he was. The opportunity to get a shot at the great Sherlock Holmes had been more of a lure than the money for most of them. They packed up in silence and waited for Moran's say-so to leave; Holmes and Watson were still by the poolside, and it was considered shameful to have the target spot you.

They eventually left, laughing nervously and standing on shaky legs. Moran nodded tersely and the others filed down the back stairs quickly, a few obviously leaving for other jobs. Only when he was alone did Moran step down and retrieve the Semtex jacket. He stuffed it into a backpack Moriarty had left for him in a locker and used a long net to scoop up the memory stick. Even if Moriarty hadn't wanted it, there could still be valuable information left on it; it was most likely waterproof, and some data is always recoverable. They could make a tidy sum by selling it off.

He calmly made his way to a nearby taxi rank and after an hour or so of hopping in and out of black cabs, leading any pursuers on a merry chase, he was unlocking the door to Moriarty's domain once again. He wasn't sure what to expect with the foiling of Moriarty's plan, but he desperately hoped a night writhing beneath the sheets was still on the cards.

He carefully placed the backpack down in the hall and walked calmly into the living room. Moriarty was already there, of course, perching on the arm of his chair, his shoeless feet propped on the cushions. He had taken his jacket off and had his back to Moran, leaning on his knees; he could see the shirt straining across Moriarty's back, tight across his deceptively powerful shoulders, tight around his narrow waist. Moran bit the inside of his cheek, pushing down the urge to run his hands over Moriarty's back, to feel the smooth silk beneath his palms and the firm solidity of those muscles. He had tried that once and been firmly… reprimanded. He was not to touch his employer without express permission.

"Take the Semtex to Scotland Yard tomorrow," Moriarty instructed him, obviously having heard the door open. "That should be a nice surprise for the good Detective Inspector."

Moran nodded; it didn't seem to require a reply.

"I've dealt with Adler," Moriarty continued, still looking away into the distance, expression blank. "Seems we can work this new turn to our advantage."

Moran nodded again.

"Oh for fuck's sake say something," Moriarty snapped irritably. Moran's heart sunk; maybe sex was off the cards.

"What do you want me to say? 'Yes Boss'?" He replied instead, voice hoarse and soft.

Moriarty's shoulders loosened a little; he was regaining his composure. "No," He said quietly, considering. "No. You did well tonight, Moran. The good doctor looked very out of his depth."

"Thank you," Moran replied, inclining his head. A little flicker of warmth came to life in his chest at the compliment. "He co-operated obligingly. Until that sad attempt at heroism, that is."

A ghost of a smile curled Moriarty's lips. "Yes, that was funny. What an adorable little pet. I can see why Sherlock keeps him around."

Moran carefully considered his reply, folding his arms. "You said you wanted one."

"What?"

"You said that you wanted a 'pet' like him. What did you mean?"

Moriarty turned around, grinning. "Why would I want a pet when I've got you, Moran? You're far more loyal than a slobbering dog."

Moran blinked; he didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted. Such was the way with Moriarty. In one smooth motion Moriarty got to his feet, considering Moran's blank expression.

"No, you're much more entertaining than a pet," Moriarty continued in a low, seductive voice, a sly grin stretching his lips and sending heat pulsing through Moran's body all over again. "And unlike Sherlock and his darling John, I can fuck your brains out until you scream for mercy."

Moran shuddered pleasantly, his lips twitching in a smile.

"Does that sound like a good plan?" Moriarty smirked, pupils dilated just a bit.

Moran let his eyelids lower and slowly removed his jacket and gun rig, making sure his shirt stretched with his chest and shoulder muscles just the way Moriarty liked. Moriarty grinned and copied him, stepping close enough that their chests just bumped as he removed his jacket, tossing it to the ground carelessly.

"Care to play, Sebastian?" Moriarty murmured, leaning up on tiptoe to get closer.

Moran's eyes were glued to his lips, so close to his own. "Oh yes," He breathed, watching Moriarty's pupils blow wide at his response.

"Are you sure now?" Moriarty teased, his lips just a hair's breadth from Moran's, his warm breath setting Moran's cheeks and lips tingling. Moriarty's tongue slowly licked over his lips. They glistened agreeably and Moran felt his breath hitch, unable to take his eyes away from the lascivious sight.

"Yes," Moran whispered, raw need colouring his voice. His mouth was aching, and he was a second away from begging when Moriarty leaned even closer and oh-so-slowly trailed his tongue along Moran's lower lip. A shudder worked its way down his spine and he had to restrain himself from leaning forwards, taking Moriarty's wicked tongue in his mouth and stopping this slow, delicious torment. His mouth was open, saliva pooling in his throat, and he didn't care a bit.

"Did you like that, Sebastian?" Moriarty whispered, his lips just brushing against Moran's, each touch electrifying.

Moran swallowed thickly, and Moriarty's eyes darted down his throat, watching his Adam's apple bob. Moran knew what he was imagining and swallowed again, drawing out the motion, his breath ghosting over Moriarty's cheek in a silent laugh. Moriarty's lips parted wider in desire, his breathing a little louder. This close they could smell each other's aftershave, one spicy and the other smoky. Moriarty's breath was like mint, and Moran breathed in deeply through his nose, closing his eyes briefly. This teasing was one of his favourite things about being with Moriarty, but he knew the time was coming when one of them would break, and then things would really get intense.

"Sure _you're_ ready to play, Jim?" Moran murmured, his voice just above a growl, his throat humming and drawing Moriarty's gaze again.

"You tease," Moriarty grinned and took Moran's wet lower lip in his teeth, nipping at the sensitive skin with his sharp teeth, drawing blood and sucking it up. Moran gasped sharply and almost pressed down but knew better. His hands shook with the urge to pull Moriarty closer and explore his body again and rip those tight-fitting clothes right off him. He settled for daring to press his tongue to Moriarty's lip, teasing him right back.

Moriarty chuckled and gave in, crushing their lips together and sweeping his tongue through Moran's mouth. Moran groaned softly and kissed him back eagerly, his lips burning with the heat of the kiss and the tang of his own bloody lip. The kiss soon became furious, both of them biting and gnawing on the other's lips, tongues sliding along each other. Moriarty buried his hands in Moran's hair, pulling his head down to kiss him harder. Moran sucked on his lip in return, making him shiver.

No thoughts passed through his mind, only the vague satisfaction that Hooper hadn't kissed him like this, that he was enjoying this more. He could feel Moriarty's erection pressing into his upper thigh, making him feel dizzy with lust.

"Jim," He whispered raggedly as their lips parted to allow them to breathe.

"Yes, Sebastian?" Moriarty murmured, tongue darting out to catch a droplet of blood from his lip.

"I want to touch you," Moran breathed, eyes almost closed. He held Moriarty's gaze, eyes burning bright. "I want my hands all over you. I want you pressed against me. Let me touch you."

Moriarty kissed him hard for a few moments, almost viciously, before nodding with a grin. "Go on then. Permission granted, Colonel."

Moran wasted no time and wrapped his arms around Moriarty's waist, pulling his body flush and letting his hands roam over the back he had been admiring all day. He groaned into Moriarty's mouth as their erections pressed hard against each other, hips grinding up into each other. Moriarty chewed on his tongue wickedly, bucking his hips to slide just so, teasing little gasps from Moran's throat. His fingers dug in and scrabbled at his shirt, panting just a bit.

"Ohh, you're desperate for it, aren't you," Moriarty crooned into his neck. Moran made a startled sound that quickly turned to one of pleasure as one of Moriarty's hands skimmed down his back to grab his arse, grinding him closer. "Has it really been so long since we last played together, Seb?"

"Far too long," Moran groaned, impatiently tugging Moriarty's shirt out of his waistband and running his hands up over his bare back.

"Maybe I should leave you alone for a few weeks again," Moriarty grinned. "If it makes you this desperate the next time." He leaned up and bit down sharply on Moran's earlobe. Moran's nails dug into his back reflexively, pulling him closer and scratching down his back, sure to leave a mark in the morning. He was lucky there wasn't any blood.

Moriarty chuckled and chewed just a little, arching his back in silent permission. Moran obliged and dug his nails deeper, clawing down from his shoulder blades to the small of his back, a slight grunt from Moriarty telling him that there was going to be blood on the shirt very soon. Moriarty chuckled and dipped his head down to suck on the V of flesh at Moran's unbuttoned collar, clearly having been fantasising about doing so by how much he _sucked_ on the skin. A brief, sane thought crossed his mind: if he walked out into the street with a bleeding neck and lip he was going to be rather conspicuous, which was very bad for his job.

"Jim," He groaned reproachfully.

"What?" Moriarty murmured into his neck. "You'll have a bruised lip and ear, what's another mark? You can always say you were mugged, now stop fussing."

Moran was distracted from replying by Jim fairly ripping his shirt open, popping at least one button in his haste to get to the former colonel's muscular chest. Moran reached down and firmly grabbed Jim's arse in both hands, pulling him up to grind their hips together; they both groaned, throbbing with desire.

"Bed?" Moran gasped urgently.

"Floor," Jim corrected him. "Bed's too far." So saying, he used an old wrestling trick to send them both crashing to the floor, Moran landing with a grunt of pain right on his back, Jim above him. "Oh shush, that was nothing," Jim scolded him playfully.

Moran didn't reply, simply yanked Jim's now-bloodied shirt off him and ran his hands over his back, coating his palms with sticky blood and grinning darkly. Jim grinned and started attacking his belt and trousers, shoving them down impatiently. Moran barked out a short laugh – he was still wearing the fluorescent green designer boxers. He kicked off his boots, sending the stiletto knife flying across the room. Jim raised an eyebrow laconically and Moran shrugged, reaching down to run his hands over the boxers, grinning as he smeared blood on them.

"Hey!" Jim snapped. Moran dropped his hands immediately, knowing he had crossed a line. And didn't it just make him harder.

"Right, for that, no more touching for you, Sebastian," He said angrily, grabbing his tie off the floor and quickly binding Moran's wrists and forearms together. Moran scowled and fought him just enough to let him know he was serious, then relented and raised his bound arms back over his head, arching his back and smirking. Jim smiled slowly, his anger subsiding as he surveyed the way it made Sebastian's chest muscles stretch pleasingly, seemingly straining under his skin. "That's better."

Jim quickly stripped them down, settling for shoving their trousers down enough to kick away. Moran arched and squirmed against him, grinning as Jim expertly unsheathed the knives, placing them within arms' reach; he knew Moran would have fought him if they weren't close. He shoved the gun rig into the pile as well, and Moran responded by raising his hips and spreading his legs around Jim's.

Jim fumbled with their underwear, pressing his mouth hard against Moran's, cutting the inside of his lip against his incisors. They didn't spare a thought for lubricant – Jim was slick with anticipation and anyway, a little pain was nothing. Jim grinned and smoothly pushed deep into Moran, grinning wider as Moran closed his eyes and loudly groaned something that sounded like "fuck yes".

Jim thrust into him hard and deep, his other hand clenched tight around Moran's cock, pumping furiously. Moran wanted to dig his nails into Jim's back again but had to settle for clutching at the carpet, arching his back and tightening himself around Jim, rewarded by the criminal's moan of delight. This was what he needed, what he craved, he needed Jim hilt-deep inside his body and concentrating only on him, thinking only about his body and the feeling of fucking him into oblivion.

Moran panted for breath, sweat glistening on his skin and blood trickling down his throat from his split and bleeding lips. Jim pounded into him as hard as he could, a manic little laugh bubbling from his lips, teasing Moran ever closer to sweet release, purposefully missing that delicate spot deep inside him that ached to be hit, that would send him over the edge.

"You know what I want," Jim laughed breathlessly as Moran raised his hips higher, trying to pull Jim deeper inside him. "Do it, and I'll finish you off."

Moran cracked his eyes open enough to meet Jim's over-bright gaze, a slight blush on his cheeks as he spoke, "Fuck me, Jim. Just fuck me…"

"No, that's not it," Jim said, not letting up his furious pace but not going letting Moran release, either.

Moran bit his lip hard enough to draw more blood, his cheeks flushing red. He didn't like doing it, but fuck it he was too close to release to care. He tossed his head back and moaned as loudly as he could, voice rough with need and sore from over-use. "_Please_," He groaned, much louder than normal, raw with desperation.

Jim laughed and, true to his word, thrust right into the bundle of sensitive nerves inside Moran. Moran's voice cracked mid-groan and his hips bucked frantically, white-hot pleasure burning through his body and finally letting him go. His body shook as he rode out the shockwaves, feeling Jim push in even deeper and hiss with pleasure, hot liquid shooting deep into him.

They panted breathlessly, muscles twitching. Jim lowered Moran's hips down to the floor and rested his weight on his forearms either side of Moran's chest.

"Why do you always make me do that?" Moran asked, blushing again in mortification when they had calmed their frantic heartbeats. He hated blushing. He wasn't a schoolgirl, for fuck's sake.

Jim chuckled and wiped his cum-spattered hand over Moran's chest. "You're always so silent, Seb," He grinned. "I like hearing you cry out."

"How very romantic," A cool female voice commented from the doorway. Moran immediately grabbed a gun from the floor and aimed it over Jim's shoulder in a reflex honed by his time in Afghanistan, only marginally hampered by his bound wrists. The move caused them to sit up, Jim still firmly wedged inside him.

Jim rolled his eyes. "Go _away_, Irene. Daddy's having fun."

"I can see that," Irene Adler replied with a smirk, taking a seat just to the side of them. Moran kept his gun aimed coolly at her head, battling the urge to pull the trigger on this woman who dared intrude, who dared interrupt what was supposed to have been a night just for him and Jim, for the first time in far too long.

"No one invited you to the party, go away," Jim said, kissing down Moran's blood-streaked throat and not even deigning to look her way. Moran's lips twitched, the only visible sign of his distraction. His eyes were coldly furious, boring into Adler. It was taking all his will not to pull the trigger.

"You can put the gun away, Colonel," She said calmly, making no secret of the fact she was surveying their naked bodies appreciatively. "I've only got my riding crop with me, and as much as I suspect you might enjoy that, it's really no threat to either of you."

The barrel didn't waver and his eye twitched minutely.

"You're such a bore, Irene," Jim sighed. "He only takes orders from me."

"Again, I can see that," She smirked. "I heard that, in fact. I'm sure half of London heard that." Moran narrowed his eyes at her.

"How did you get here, anyway?" Jim asked, sounding bored. "And what do you want, now you've rudely interrupted."

"Oh it was simple," She replied with a smile. "I made myself known to your cleaner. She's very easy to please, poor neglected girl. Virgin, you know, or at least she _was_. I thought she was your bit on the side, but obviously that position is saved for someone with a bit more… spunk."

"You subverted my cleaning staff?" Jim asked, sounding just a bit annoyed. "How rude."

She smiled blithely. "I came here to collect that money. For seducing Sherlock."

"Payment afterwards, you know that," Jim said, looking over his shoulder to scowl at her. "Why are you really here?"

"Insurance," She smirked. "I took that threat about skinning me seriously, and decided to come here and collect a little bit of protection. I was only looking for a location, not for something this juicy." She got out her phone and waved it at them. Moran's scowl deepened.

"So you've got a couple of dirty pictures, so what," Jim said, sounding more annoyed than angry. He gnawed gently on Moran's mauled earlobe, making him shiver. "It's a free country, I can shag whoever I like."

"Oh, I'm sure it won't damage _you_, James," She said, watching with a smirk. "But if any potential clients found out you were so personally involved with your employer, Colonel, I'm sure they'd think twice about hiring you. Terribly unprofessional, you know. And believe me, I have fingers in more pies than you can imagine. I could make sure no one ever hired you again."

Jim stopped gnawing and looked at her seriously. Moran let no expression cross his face but calmly flicked the safety off the pistol. Silence reigned for a second, the air tense.

"Alright, you've made your point," Jim said coldly, glaring at her. "Get out."

She did so in her own good time, eyes raking over their entwined bodies. "See you around, boys."

Moran kept his gun aimed and ready until he heard the door close and a car drive away. Then he slowly lowered it to the floor, putting the safety back on.

"Don't worry about her," Jim said after a few moments, gently licking his bloodied ear. "She's easily taken care of. I've got some 'insurance' of my own. She's no threat."

Moran was just a little flattered that Jim cared enough to want to protect him. Almost shyly Moran pressed their lips together, ignoring the pain of his already-bruising mouth as he kissed Jim. Jim smiled and kissed him back with a slow heat, stroking down his sides. Moran looped his bound arms around Jim's neck, smiling. As they kissed he became aware of the aches and soreness all over his body from the hard fucking he'd received, not discounting the carpet-rash he could feel burning on his shoulder blades, and he revelled in it. It was the best kind of pain.

"Thank you, Jim," He said softly, little more than a croak from his abused larynx.

Jim smirked into his mouth. "Well, of course I want to protect the best bloody shag I've had."

Moran raised an eyebrow sternly. "Thanks," He said again, sarcastically and just a little hurt.

"Oh don't be such a girly wuss, Seb," Jim laughed. "I'm only joking with you." His expression became more serious and he rubbed the tip of his nose against Sebastian's. "You're mine. Mine to have, mine to protect."

Moran pushed away the question that nagged him, the question of whether he was the _only_ one for Jim Moriarty. This moment was good enough. This night, where it was only them and pure pleasure, he could feel secure in the knowledge that Jim was thinking of nobody else.

Jim chuckled and pushed him down to the floor again, hooking Moran's legs up around his hips. Moran smiled, feeling rather like a captive tied to a pole, about to be carried off. "Enough serious talk. The night's still young, you know."

Moran shivered at the dark glint in Jim's eyes and teasingly ran his tongue over his lips, wetting them and swallowing the blood in his mouth. Jim's pupils began to dilate again, and Moran gasped softly as he felt, deep inside him, that Jim was getting hard again, filling up his inner space. It was a remarkable sensation, one that sent pleasure quivering through him again.

"Ohh yes, Seb," Jim laughed, the vibrations of his laughter shuddering within Moran, sparking heat in his blood again. "I'm not done with you yet, not by a long way."

Already several miles away, Irene Adler smirked to herself as she flicked through the explicit photos she had taken, wondering what was best to do with them. They only had limited value as insurance – she was well aware of Moriarty's protection against her – and the fun had been more in surprising Moriarty and the Colonel at such an intimate time. She flicked through her mental contacts, wondering who would pay the most for this potential blackmail material against the greatest criminal the world had ever seen. Who would benefit the most…

She grinned wolfishly.

His nemesis, of course. How perfect.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed :) I am planning on continuing this, so watch for a chapter 3.

If you'd take a moment to leave a review, I'd really appreciate it.

See you next chapter~


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